Distant Shores
by Taelle
Summary: All the weary travellers sooner or later find happiness somewhere.
1. First Song

First Song  
  
Author: Marina (taelle@mail.rcom.ru)  
  
Pairing: none for now  
  
Rating: G  
  
Dislaimers: This story uses characters and  
  
universe belonging to J.R.R.Tolkien. They  
  
characters are not used for profit. Please view my  
  
story as a respectful comment on the work of a  
  
beloved writer.  
  
Series: first one in future series.  
  
Warning/summary/notes: this story contains an OC,  
  
and more than that, it's from the POV of that OC.  
  
A Tolkien character does appear towards the end of  
  
this (first) story. If the original content is  
  
unacceptable to you, do not read any further.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
(Time and place indefinite)  
  
He wasn't a complete newcomer, not any more, and  
  
went out with the men in all kinds of weather.  
  
Still, it was the longest voyage they ever made,  
  
for the herring avoided the usual places, and  
  
nobody wanted to return home empty.  
  
So they all were tired, men and boys, and women  
  
who almost despaired waiting for them. They  
  
unloaded the boats wearily, making the last effort  
  
to get everything secure and exchanging quiet  
  
jokes, glad to be home at last. And that was when  
  
he heard the song.  
  
He had the best ear in all three fishing villages  
  
along this shore. Sometimes it even made him  
  
useful, able to hear faint rumblings of faraway  
  
storm before others. But that was not what he  
  
hungered for. He strained his ears for music,  
  
scraps of melodies, occasional new songs that a  
  
visitor brought to this half-empty land - the old  
  
ones he knew by heart already.  
  
But he never, ever heard songs like this - not  
  
even at the great fair where they went last year  
  
when the fishing was good. The boy knew he'd  
  
remember that trip as long as he lived. He could  
  
not stop gaping at everything, and managed to  
  
learn six new songs. Father laughed at him, saying  
  
that one day he'd forget eating and drinking for a  
  
song, but the girls started following him  
  
everywhere, giggling stupidly and asking him to  
  
sing.  
  
He did not like to sing. In his head the melody  
  
was perfect in its freedom, but through his mouth  
  
it came out wobbly, mangled and just plain wrong.  
  
And now, frozen in place and making desperate  
  
gestures to quieten his friends horsing around,  
  
the boy thought he'll never even try again.  
  
He came to himself when two fishermen with a heavy  
  
load pushed him aside roughly. Nors made a face  
  
and laughed, and father was calling him already.  
  
But the song was still here, a faint sigh of  
  
beauty brought by the wind.  
  
Still, the chores had to be done, and he hurried  
  
through them as much as he could. Once finished,  
  
he looked at his father pleadingly.  
  
"Can I leave? I'm done here..."  
  
After a careful inspection the permission was  
  
given, though with evident surprise at the fact  
  
that anyone could wish to hurry anywhere but home,  
  
to dinner and bed.  
  
"Youth..." his mother chuckled to his father.  
  
"Didn't you use to take me to all-night dances and  
  
then sail out in the morning?"  
  
But he did not listen any more, already running,  
  
weaving carefully among boats, fish and fishermen  
  
till he was out of the village, the interfering  
  
voices left behind. Ahead were grey-blue sky and  
  
blue-grey sea, and the strip of tide under his  
  
feet.  
  
They did not hear, the boy understood suddenly.  
  
They still did not, could not hear that - or his  
  
father could very well make him stay. Already he  
  
grumbled about growing up and preparing to work  
  
enough to support a family of his own...  
  
He shook his head. That was back in the village,  
  
and therefore not important now. Only sea  
  
mattered, the first and shallowest beginnings of  
  
it making little splashes under his feet, and the  
  
song coming closer, enveloping him in quiet  
  
sadness that seemed separate from any ordinary  
  
sorrow or worry, just a world of its own.  
  
And finally the boy saw him ahead. The singer was  
  
approaching along the coast, a tall dark-haired  
  
man in worn clothes. He did not seem to notice a  
  
stranger waiting for him, only looking at the sea  
  
and the sand and singing in a strange language  
  
that must sound like a song even when spoken.  
  
The boy ran closer, then stopped, feeling that the  
  
noise from his feet was intolerable, and just  
  
stood there, staring in fascination.  
  
The singer approached, and his looks were no  
  
surprise to the boy. It was as if he sent himself  
  
ahead with his voice, so that any listener would  
  
be warned of his beauty and the sadness wrapped  
  
around him like a cloak.  
  
Where did he come from? There were other villages  
  
further to the north, but the singer did not look  
  
like he was from there. He seemed to exist in the  
  
world where there were no other people, only cold  
  
sea and heavy grey sky and the line of tide for  
  
him to follow forever.  
  
Now the boy could see details of him, the unusual  
  
shape of grey eyes, the heavy wave of his hair,  
  
his hands... His hands! He swallowed suddenly,  
  
seeing those hands, still beautiful but so  
  
horribly burned. His own hand moved, as if wanting  
  
to touch, to caress, to make it better...  
  
He must have made a sound, because suddenly the  
  
singer looked at him - and fell silent. "No," the  
  
boy whispered involuntarily, "no..."  
  
The singer stepped closer, looking at him as if  
  
the boy was indeed the first living person he saw  
  
in his life.  
  
"What are you called?" he asked suddenly, his  
  
voice still soft and melodious. He pronounced the  
  
words slowly and precisely, like they were foreign  
  
for him. The boy decided that his native language  
  
must have been that of his song. But what language  
  
could it be? Everyone around spoke the same  
  
tongue...  
  
He blushed, remembering that he did not answer the  
  
question. "My name is Alder, sir."  
  
"Alder?" the singer repeated with a small smile.  
  
"So your people name children for trees, too..."  
  
"Um, yes..." Alder wanted to answer, maybe to ask  
  
something, but all his questions died on his lips,  
  
and he could only look and remember this forever.  
  
"Your song, sir... It was..."  
  
"My song..." the singer repeated slowly and stood  
  
straighter. "Don't call me sir, Alder. Don't call  
  
me anything. Better go home and forget about me."  
  
With those words he turned and went on along the  
  
tide, faster and more resolutely than before. And  
  
silently. Alder stared at his back till he was out  
  
of earshot and then whispered "Forget about you?"  
  
He stepped towards the dry sand and sat down,  
  
hugging his knees and smiling to himself. Where  
  
did the singer think he came from? He must have  
  
been a long time without people around, or he'd  
  
realize that he was going towards Alder's village.  
  
And Alder's mother never refused a stranger  
  
hospitality...  
  
Alder stood up and stretched. He'd better warn  
  
mother. The shoreline here went in a curve, and if  
  
he ran across past the old trees, he'd be at the  
  
village before their guest.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
The end for now  
  
-------------------------------------------------- 


	2. Dinner Guest

Dinner Guest  
  
Author: Marina (taelle@mail.rcom.ru)  
  
Pairing: none for now  
  
Rating: G  
  
Dislaimers: This story uses characters and  
  
universe belonging to J.R.R.Tolkien. They  
  
characters are not used for profit. Please view my  
  
story as a respectful comment on the work of a  
  
beloved writer.  
  
Series: sequel to First Song.  
  
Warning/summary/notes: this story contains an OC,  
  
and more than that, it's from the POV of that OC,  
  
though a Tolkien character does figure in the  
  
story. If the original content is unacceptable to  
  
you, do not read any further.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
(Time and place indefinite)  
  
The most difficult part proved to be dragging the  
  
singer through the village towards their home.  
  
Alder never appreciated the closeness of his  
  
parents' house to the sea as he did today.  
  
The singer was... frightened. Yes, definitely  
  
frightened, Alder decided, and was suddenly so  
  
horrified that he almost let the man go. Seeing  
  
the lost expression on the beautiful face, the  
  
fear in the grey eyes, Alder was ashamed to be the  
  
cause of this man's pain.  
  
But then he thought better. Even if he let him go,  
  
what then? The singer will bolt, disappear in the  
  
windy greyness that surrounded the village. Where  
  
would he go? How much more could he wander like  
  
this, cold and tired and alone? Alder swallowed,  
  
trying to get rid of a sudden lump in his throat.  
  
He stepped before the singer, suddenly noticing  
  
just how tall the man was. Alder himself was tall  
  
for fisher folk, already his father's height, and  
  
he might even grow a bit taller - it was in the  
  
family. But he still had to look up to see the  
  
singer's eyes.  
  
"Don't be afraid," Alder said softly, his hand  
  
hovering in the air over the man's wounded one,  
  
afraid to hurt him if he touched more. "It will be  
  
just a dinner. We often have folks passing through  
  
for dinner. This is just the way things are done  
  
here. And you'll like mother's cooking. She made  
  
fish pie today, from the fresh catch..."  
  
He went on, babbling something more about dinner  
  
and almost not paying attention to what he was  
  
saying. Inside Alder was faintly horrified with  
  
himself. What was he doing? He stood there with a  
  
grown-up stranger, someone who probably went  
  
places much further than the fair, and treating  
  
him like some scared sick child. Worse, almost  
  
touching him like he would touch one of the guys.  
  
It would be small wonder if the man just pushed  
  
him away or something. His clothes were worn, but  
  
still quality showed - so he wasn't poor, and  
  
might even have a weapon, a real one.  
  
Then he shook his head. It was impossible to  
  
imagine this sad beautiful man attacking anyone.  
  
No, Alder did not fear him - he feared *for* him,  
  
and hoped he did not offend one he so wanted to  
  
help.  
  
"... so," he finished a little inanely, "it will  
  
be a good dinner."  
  
And then he saw something that filled him with  
  
sudden warmth and joy: the singer smiled. It was a  
  
small smile, and sadness still lingered in his  
  
eyes, but it was real - and there was no fear now.  
  
After that they arrived home fairly quickly. Alder  
  
led the singer inside, and instantly the familiar  
  
noises and smells surrounded him, but it felt a  
  
little new, too - he tried to imagine how his  
  
house would look to a stranger.  
  
Of course he failed. To him it was all so well  
  
known that when Alder heard the word "house", he  
  
saw in his mind this one - sturdy wooden walls  
  
dark from age, mother's well-scrubbed oven where  
  
he used to wait for a treat, the armchair near the  
  
fireplace where father always repaired nets... How  
  
else were people supposed to live?  
  
But that, of course, was a child's thought. He  
  
knew better now. The singer, wherever he came  
  
from, did not live like this. Alder guessed it  
  
before and knew he was right by the man's curious  
  
looking around. Suddenly he became anxious. Theirs  
  
was a good home, but was it too alien to the  
  
singer? Would he want to stay, at least for  
  
dinner?  
  
Mother came out from the kitchen and with her came  
  
the food smells. Only now Alder noticed just how  
  
hungry he was.  
  
"Welcome, friend," mother said, "you're just in  
  
time for dinner." Alder warned her about the  
  
guest, and asked her not to question him too much,  
  
so now she just showed him the place to sit. The  
  
man gave her a small bow and then sat down  
  
obediently.  
  
Nobody else seemed to be in, so when mother called  
  
him to the kitchen, Alder smiled at his guest and  
  
said "I'll be back soon."  
  
"At least *you*'re back," his mother said in a  
  
slightly annoyed tone. "The rest of them are off  
  
to do their own things, and no thoughts about me!  
  
Nobody wants to bother and to help me set the  
  
table!"  
  
Alder kissed her cheek and said "I will help you,  
  
mama, don't worry about that."  
  
She smiled at her son, shaking her head slightly.  
  
"Oh, you're all grown up, Alder..." Suddenly her  
  
face became troubled. "And that poor man! I wonder  
  
whether his ship was lost in a fire..."  
  
"I don't know," Alder answered honestly. "I did  
  
not want to trouble him with questions." Mother's  
  
theory made sense, but... how long ago was it? He  
  
had the feeling that the man was wandering down  
  
the coast for a very long time. Of course, his  
  
nervousness around people might be explained by  
  
being hurt and lost...  
  
"We must make him to stay the night," his mother  
  
went on. "I won't finish everything till  
  
tomorrow..."  
  
"Sorry, mama, what are you talking about?" Alder  
  
asked, a little baffled.  
  
"His clothes, of course! I can't let anyone leave  
  
my house looking so scruffy!"  
  
Alder chuckled, feeling a little sorry for the  
  
poor stranger. When he was little, mother never  
  
let him go out with even the slightest tear or  
  
spot on his clothes. Later he learned to slip  
  
away, but whenever mother could she still  
  
inspected all the family members leaving the  
  
house.  
  
Loaded with plates, Alder returned to the room,  
  
smiled at his guest and started setting the table.  
  
He did not notice the man getting up, so he almost  
  
jumped when the soft voice behind his back said  
  
"I could help you, Alder..."  
  
"No-no-no, sit back and relax!" Alder's mother  
  
exclaimed, appearing from the kitchen with more  
  
plates, knives and forks. "You're a guest, so you  
  
don't have to worry!"  
  
The stranger stepped back with an even softer  
  
answer "It wouldn't be a worry," but he seemed  
  
disinclined to argue with the mistress of the  
  
house.  
  
Finally the table was set to mother's satisfaction  
  
and, right on cue, Alder's youngest brother Til  
  
ran in. "I'm hu-ungry!" he yelled from the door.  
  
Ten years old and growing fast, Til was always  
  
hungry, so it was small wonder that he had been  
  
the first to return for dinner.  
  
Mother went to hush him up and make him wash his  
  
hands and face, and Alder turned to his guest. He  
  
was still strangely unwilling to disturb the man  
  
with questions, but the singer seemed comfortable  
  
where he was, and Alder could swear he even  
  
relaxed slightly.  
  
Suddenly a new thought disturbed Alder. "Please  
  
forgive me," he asked hesitantly, "but... will you  
  
have problems holding forks and knives? I mean,  
  
your hands..."  
  
The singer looked at his hands as if he saw them  
  
for the first time in his life. "No," he said  
  
slowly, "no, I will manage. Thank you, Alder..."  
  
Mother returned with a well-cleaned Til and turned  
  
to them. "Now you, boys. Time to wash up and  
  
change before dinner." Seeing slight alarm on his  
  
guest's face, Alder tried to protest, but all was  
  
in vain. Mother led the singer away, explaining  
  
something about spare clothes. Alder sighed and  
  
went to wash himself.  
  
He returned to find his guest dressed in his  
  
father's clothes, old and worn, but clean and  
  
carefully mended. It was a strange sight. Father  
  
wasn't fat - no fisherman was, - but on the tall  
  
dark stranger his clothes hung freely... Too thin,  
  
Alder decided. He was probably slim by nature, but  
  
now he was definitely too thin. Great gods, what  
  
happened to him?  
  
Well, at least mother's dinner will do him good.  
  
Nobody ever left Alder's mother's table less than  
  
full. Alder showed the singer his place, one not  
  
far from father - it was usually reserved for  
  
guests. And at that moment the rest of the family  
  
started coming in.  
  
Theirs was not an especially big family, but Alder  
  
found himself glad for today's relative quiet.  
  
Everybody was still tired afer a difficult fishing  
  
trip, so the talk was not loud, and children  
  
hesitated to horse around. The singer seemed to  
  
take it all well, and his gaze became distant and  
  
troubled only once, when Alder's second youngest  
  
brothers came in. The twins Nel and Kars were a  
  
couple of ordinary thirteen-year olds, thin boys  
  
with reddish hair like grandfather, noisy and  
  
boisterous. How could they distress this strange  
  
man? Or did Alder imagine the momentary flicker of  
  
pain?  
  
Finally father took his place, and everyone grew  
  
quiet. As it was his habit, he thanked the sea god  
  
for letting them return safely. Then, before  
  
everybody could finally start eating, he turned to  
  
the guest.  
  
"Welcome to our house and table, friend," he said  
  
quietly, and then added "You haven't told us your  
  
name yet..."  
  
In the momentary silence Alder heard the answer to  
  
the question he had not dared to ask aloud since  
  
meeting the singer.  
  
"Maglor. My name is Maglor."  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
The end for now  
  
-------------------------------------------------- 


	3. New Journey

New Journey  
  
Author: Marina (taelle@yahoo.com)  
  
Pairing: none for now  
  
Rating: G  
  
Dislaimers: This story uses characters and  
  
universe belonging to J.R.R.Tolkien. They  
  
characters are not used for profit. Please view my  
  
story as a respectful comment on the work of a  
  
beloved writer.  
  
Series: sequel to First Song and Dinner Guest.  
  
Warning/summary/notes: this story contains an OC,  
  
and more than that, it's from the POV of that OC,  
  
though a Tolkien character does figure in the  
  
story. If the original content is unacceptable to  
  
you, do not read any further.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
(Time and place indefinite)  
  
Alder leaned back and looked at the bonfire. The  
  
flame was steady and would certainly last all  
  
night. It was time to rest — if he could.  
  
Maglor was laying quietly a bit further from the  
  
fire, but with the man's ability to keep still and  
  
quiet Alder couldn't really say whether he was  
  
sleeping. At least now, settled into Alder's  
  
father's old bedroll and with the fire going, he  
  
was sure to be warm. Alder didn't even want to  
  
imagine how he got by before that.  
  
Everything was quiet around them, so quiet that  
  
Alder could distinguish the soft whisper of the  
  
pines at their back, and much further along the  
  
shore voices and snatches of music — probably a  
  
dance at some village.  
  
It wasn't Alder's first night out of home — even  
  
not counting their fishing cruises. He went to the  
  
fair that one time, and sometimes had all-night  
  
parties and dances on the beach with other young  
  
people from the village. But all these times there  
  
was a lot of people around. Now he was alone with  
  
Maglor.  
  
Alder looked at Maglor again and decided that the  
  
man was definitely asleep. Nobody could be that  
  
still while awake. He should sleep too — it was a  
  
long day, and Alder was tired, but Alder could not  
  
manage to calm down. His brain continued churning  
  
the events of the day.  
  
Back in the morning he had woken in his own bed —  
  
it was so long ago, it seemed to him now. He woke  
  
up, and the first thing he remembered was Maglor's  
  
presence. Alder jumped off the bed, joyfully  
  
buoyed by this, and dressed hurriedly. Then,  
  
though, he slowed down, unsure about bothering  
  
Maglor first thing in the morning. But when he  
  
entered the kitchen, their guest was there  
  
already. Mother bustled around, preparing the  
  
breakfast for all the family, and Maglor helped  
  
her. For a moment Alder just stood there,  
  
observing the contrast between mother's energetic  
  
movements and Maglor's slow and deliberate ones.  
  
His injury apparently put some restrictions on his  
  
abilities but still he never dropped anything or  
  
even made a single graceless movement.  
  
And then mother saw Alder and called him in to  
  
help, and he didn't have a free moment until the  
  
whole family sat down for breakfast.  
  
They ate and then they cleaned up and went on  
  
their different business. There were chores that  
  
Alder had to do, even though the strange festive  
  
mood still stayed with him. He hesitated, but then  
  
Maglor went to the yard with him and sat there  
  
watching Alder work. The chores did not really  
  
take that long, now that he could raise his head  
  
any time he wanted and check that Maglor was still  
  
here. Every time the man caught him looking, he  
  
answered with a tiny smile. Alder wished Maglor  
  
would sing, but did not dare to ask for it.  
  
And then they went back into the house, for it was  
  
almost time for dinner, and mother gave Maglor his  
  
clothes, washed and mended. "Thank you, kind  
  
lady," Maglor said softly, bowing his head.  
  
Mother looked at him for a moment, then nodded.  
  
"Will you stay for dinner?"  
  
"If it won't be a problem," he said. "I'll be gone  
  
afterwards."  
  
Alder wanted to cry out, but there was a lump in  
  
his throat that did not let him utter even one  
  
sound. Maglor was leaving.  
  
Perhaps he did utter some sound, for when they  
  
were alone in the dining room, Maglor looked  
  
straight at Alder with his strange eyes and said,  
  
"I cannot stay, Alder."  
  
"But why?" Alder suspected he sounded like a  
  
petulant child, but somehow he did not care.  
  
Maglor frowned. "I... it would be wrong. There's  
  
no place for me anywhere, especiall here..."  
  
Alder stared at him, dissatisfied with the answer  
  
bur not knowing what else to say. Maglor sighed  
  
and went to change into his own clothes.  
  
The dinner after that felt much less cheerful than  
  
the previous meals. Alder was restless and uneasy,  
  
and his parents and siblings seemed to feel this.  
  
The younger children hurried to eat and asked  
  
immediately for the permission to leave. Father  
  
tried to talk about the next cruise, but soon felt  
  
silent. And then Maglor spoke.  
  
The family already noticed that their guest spoke  
  
rarely, so everybody turned to him. "I thank you  
  
for your hospitality," Maglor said. "I will leave  
  
after dinner, and I will remember you always with  
  
gratitude."  
  
Alder's parents answered with standard  
  
well-wishing in his journey. Alder did not say  
  
anything. His father glanced at him sharply, but  
  
did not voice a reproach, only nodded to himself.  
  
After the dinner mother went to the kitchen again,  
  
declaring against Maglor's feeble protests that  
  
she was going to pack some food for him to take on  
  
the road. In the end he went after her meekly, and  
  
Alder was left alone with his father.  
  
For a moment both of them were silent, and then  
  
Alder's father asked quietly, "You want to leave  
  
with him, don't you?"  
  
And suddenly Alder understood that that was  
  
exactly what he wanted. Maglor was right, he could  
  
not stay at the village, it wasn't his place — but  
  
he showed something to Alder, and now the boy knew  
  
that he had to leave home too.  
  
"I..." he started to talk hesitantly, "I know I  
  
have to help you, and I love fishing, honestly, I  
  
do, but..." The boy took a deep breath. "I just  
  
never knew. Not even when we went to the fair, and  
  
now..." Alder had no right words to explain why  
  
his own village suddenly seemed too small, but he  
  
had to try. "Now I know that there's something  
  
else in the world. It is bad to wish for more than  
  
my own home, but I can't stop feeling it. Feeling  
  
the call."  
  
"I know," his father answered gently. "Maybe I  
  
always knew that a song will call you away..." The  
  
man sighed and for a moment embraced his son  
  
tightly, then stepped aside and looked at the boy  
  
seriously. "I have helpers enough. You are almost  
  
a man already, Alder, and no man should be tied  
  
down when his destiny calls. Go, son. Go where you  
  
need to go, but never forget your home."  
  
"I..." Now it was even more difficult to speak,  
  
but Alder swallowed and went on bravely. "Thank  
  
you, father! I love you all, and I'll be back, I  
  
promise..."  
  
His father smiled and said "I love you too, son.  
  
Now let's go tell your mother and your friend that  
  
you'll be leaving with him, and then we have to  
  
prepare you for the journey."  
  
And so they went. Alder explained his decision  
  
hesitantly, looking at Maglor, as if apologizing  
  
for intrusion. After all, he never asked — maybe  
  
Maglor was tired of him, of them all already, and  
  
*that*'s why he decided to leave quickly. So his  
  
mother's reaction caught him totally unprepared.  
  
"Why on earth would you want to leave?" she asked  
  
in surprise and disbelief. "Your home is here, you  
  
don't need to go anywhere!" She turned to Maglor,  
  
suddenly enraged. "It's all your doing! You've  
  
bewitched him somehow! We all were fine until you  
  
appeared!"  
  
Maglor stumbled backwards, his face white. "I'd  
  
better go now," he whispered.  
  
Alder's father stepped closer to his wife. "Now,  
  
now, Mora," he said, hugging her. "Let the boy be.  
  
He's growing up, it's normal for him to go into  
  
the world to seek his destiny..."  
  
"His life's here with us!" his mother exclaimed  
  
and began to cry in earnest. Alder knew he had to  
  
talk to her, but first he needed to stop Maglor.  
  
"Don't go, please," he said entreatingly. "It's  
  
not your fault, Maglor, don't go..." He caught the  
  
man's shoulder and squeezed it slightly, trying to  
  
project reassurance.  
  
"I brought discord into your family," Maglor said  
  
tonelessly, looking straight ahead as if not  
  
really seeing Alder.  
  
  
  
"No, you didn't!" Alder said decisively. "Mother,  
  
father? Tell him! Tell Maglor he did not do  
  
anything wrong!"  
  
"I don't want you to go!" his mother sniffed.  
  
"But he would've gone anyway," father told her  
  
quietly, and then looked at their guest. "Do not  
  
worry, friend Maglor. You did not make us do  
  
anything we wouldn't do on our own."  
  
Maglor still looked a little worried, but father  
  
said, "Now, I wouldn't want the boy to go on his  
  
own, so would you please look after him for us?".  
  
And then mother started to pack even more food and  
  
give them both instructions about keeping clothes  
  
dry, and drinking only fresh water, and gods know  
  
what else. Alder did not take his eyes off  
  
Maglor's face. Finally he saw the man smile  
  
slightly and sighed in relief.  
  
They left in the early evening, after the whole  
  
family and friends came in for tea and to say good  
  
bye to Alder. Maglor sat quietly in the corner of  
  
the dining room and watched. Alder almost lost  
  
hope to ever get out from all this hustle and  
  
bustle. From time to time he looked on to check  
  
whether the man was still here, and Maglor's quiet  
  
smile reminded him that an adventure waited for  
  
him.  
  
Finally when Lyta the sailmaker's daughter kissed  
  
him, Alder had enough. He found his father and  
  
told him it was time to go, and soon all the  
  
guests left. The family stood on the porch to say  
  
the last good-bye. Father hugged Alder briefly and  
  
then let mother kiss him all she wanted. When  
  
Alder looked again, he saw that father was shaking  
  
Maglor's crippled hand carefully.  
  
The twins went with them till the last house. They  
  
chattered incessantly about where *they* would go  
  
when they were grown up. Alder looked at Maglor  
  
and noticed that the man was humming quietly. That  
  
made the boy grin so widely that even the twins  
  
noticed.  
  
Finally the younger boys had to turn home. Alder  
  
promised for the last time to come back with  
  
presents, and then they went along the shore,  
  
leaving the village at their back.  
  
They went ahead in silence, comfortable with each  
  
other. At one moment Alder said, "Are you going  
  
anywhere in particular?"  
  
Maglor shook his head, and Alder grinned. "That's  
  
okay anyway," he said, and Maglor smiled in  
  
answer.  
  
Leaving so late they could not travel far this  
  
day, and when they stopped for the night it was in  
  
a place Alder saw before. He supposed it was okay  
  
— nothing too strange for the first day. Alder  
  
started the fire, glancing doubtfully at his  
  
companion. He still did not know how Maglor burned  
  
his hands. Could he be afraid of fire? But the man  
  
did not protest, and Alder went on.  
  
"What were you humming back in the village?" he  
  
asked when they finished their supper.  
  
"Just an old song," Maglor said. "Your brothers  
  
reminded me of it somehow."  
  
"Will you sing it to me?" Alder asked hesitantly.  
  
Maglor closed his eyes. "Tomorrow, maybe..." he  
  
said quietly.  
  
"Good night, then," Alder said.  
  
"Good night, Alder."  
  
Then they fell silent. Maglor seemed to fall  
  
asleep, but Alder was too excited to sleep, and so  
  
he lay thinking about his day.  
  
It was a good day, he decided finally, and  
  
tomorrow will be better. And maybe Maglor will  
  
sing him a song. Alder closed his eyes and fell  
  
asleep.  
  
--------------------------------------------------  
  
The end for now  
  
-------------------------------------------------- 


	4. Town Fair

Title: Town Fair  
  
Author: Marina (taelle@yahoo.com)  
  
Pairing: none for now  
  
Rating: G  
  
Disclaimer: This story uses characters and universe  
  
belonging to J.R.R.Tolkien. The characters are not used for  
  
profit. Please view my story as a respectful comment on the  
  
work of a beloved writer.  
  
Series: sequel to First Song, Dinner Guest and New Journey.  
  
Warning/summary/notes: this story contains an OC, and more  
  
than that, it's from the POV of that OC, though a Tolkien  
  
character does figure in the story. If the original content  
  
is unacceptable to you, do not read any further. Thanks to  
  
everyone who reviewed this story — you make me want to write  
  
more.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------  
  
(Time and place indefinite)  
  
Alder supposed it was his idea to go to the fair, even  
  
though he never really asked Maglor about this. The only  
  
time he ever travelled from home before now was to the fair  
  
last year. Naturally, he could not avoid mentioning it now  
  
and then. Well, much more often than now and then, to be  
  
honest.  
  
Maglor did not like to have a lot of people around him.  
  
Alder knew that, and so he never thought that his stories  
  
about the fair would ever lead to anything. And then a  
  
couple of men drove by on a wagon full of apples, talking  
  
about the fair and the amount of apples they expected to  
  
sell.  
  
The men waved at them and drove ahead, disappearing behind  
  
the turn of the road. Maglor turned towards Alder, staring  
  
at him intently.  
  
"What is it?" Alder asked, slightly alarmed. "Is something  
  
wrong, Maglor?" He thought of Maglor as his friend now, but  
  
he still had lost neither the wonder of looking at the  
  
dark-haired man nor the constant worry because of Maglor's  
  
strange fragility.  
  
"Let's go to the fair too," Maglor said with a sudden small  
  
smile.  
  
Completely surprised, Alder didn't know what to answer. So  
  
he just followed Maglor onto the road the two men had taken.  
  
Soon, of course, he recovered his wits enough to pose  
  
objections to this plan. No matter what he said, though,  
  
Maglor just smiled and shook his head. In this way they  
  
arrived to the fair.  
  
When they first emerged into the market square where most of  
  
the stalls stood, Alder stopped, staring avidly, fascinated  
  
by the multitude of colours, noises and smells. This fair  
  
seemed bigger than the one he visited before. The whole town  
  
was bigger. Besides, during the weeks of travelling with  
  
Maglor Alder got used to the quietness of empty coast and  
  
pine forests along it. And Maglor had been travelling by  
  
himself for much longer — he must be really disturbed by  
  
this... Maglor! Had he lost Maglor?  
  
But after looking around frantically Alder noticed Maglor  
  
close by, in a quiet spot near the wall of a house. His  
  
friend was looking at him and, if Alder wasn't much  
  
mistaken, smiling slightly.  
  
"Sorry," the boy said after jostling his way back to Maglor.  
  
"I got distracted..."  
  
"Never mind," the man answered, still with the same quiet  
  
smile, "That's what we came here for."  
  
Still, after that Alder made a point never to go far from  
  
Maglor. Together they wandered between the stalls, gazing at  
  
the wooden toys and embroidered shirts local craftsmen were  
  
so proud of, stopping to watch the pig competition and  
  
applauding when the owner of the best and fattest pig got  
  
his prize and put blue winner's band on his pride and joy.  
  
Soon Alder caught himself watching Maglor more than he  
  
watched the goings-on at the fair. The truth was that he had  
  
a secret goal — Alder wanted to find out what Maglor liked.  
  
Music, sure, and he always looked at musical instruments,  
  
but what else? What was his favourite colour? What fruit did  
  
he like? Alder had tried asking Maglor himself in those  
  
first days of their travelling together when it all still  
  
had seemed like a dream. The man had always shrugged, saying  
  
that it did not matter. So Alder started observing him.  
  
The fair gave him plenty of opportunities for that. When  
  
Maglor tried to keep to the side, to stay far from the  
  
crowds, Alder started dragging him to all the stalls, making  
  
him try apples, pears and wild cherries, and even freshly  
  
peeled carrots which one vendor was offering.  
  
Thankfully they had some money now — Alder never missed an  
  
opportunity to do an odd job or two in the villages they  
  
passed through. Maglor still shied away from people whenever  
  
he could, and Alder wasn't sure he'd be able to work with  
  
these hands of his.  
  
What money Alder earned Maglor insisted he kept for himself.  
  
So he did - it was spent mostly on food for the two of them,  
  
anyway. Maglor was horrible about food. Alder stopped  
  
wondering about his thinness long ago, and just thanked all  
  
the gods the man hadn't died from hunger long ago.  
  
And there were also Maglor's money, for a couple of times  
  
Maglor had sung in taverns.  
  
The first week they had been travelling together Maglor  
  
hadn't sung at all, though sometimes, when they had sat  
  
quietly near the bonfire, Alder had been almost sure he had  
  
heard a soft humming.  
  
The song of Maglor's that he had heard that first morning  
  
had never left Alder's heart, but he would never dare to ask  
  
the man to sing. He had just waited, and listened, and kept  
  
silent.  
  
His patience had borne its fruit. One morning he had  
  
returned through the cool strip of pinewood after a dip in  
  
the sea when he had heard it. Not *that* song, no, not the  
  
one that had had called his soul away from the moment he had  
  
heard it. This one had been softer and merrier, though still  
  
quiet, like a favourite lullaby sung to amuse and soothe a  
  
child after a long day.  
  
Only no lullaby he had ever heard was sung with a voice so  
  
rich and flowing despite the low pitch of the song. It had  
  
sounded not like a human voice, more like the voice of the  
  
sea that had soothed Alder when he had tried to go to sleep  
  
in the boat during his first cruises, scared and excited to  
  
be among the men, doing men's job.  
  
So now he had only been able to stand, fascinated, wishing  
  
that the song would never end. But it had ended. Maglor had  
  
fallen silent and had lifted his head, looking straight at  
  
Alder with his oddly shaped grey eyes. Alder had stared  
  
back, his heart thumping, knowing that he would find no  
  
words even had he wanted to say something.  
  
He had approached the fire silently, trying to go on as  
  
usual, when Maglor had smiled at him. It had been a brief  
  
hesitant smile, but for the rest of the day Alder had felt  
  
as if he could fly better than any seagull.  
  
Since then Maglor had started humming more, and sometimes  
  
had sung snatches of songs, usually sad ones — Alder could  
  
feel that despite being unable to understand that lilting  
  
language.  
  
Then one evening, when the rain had made them seek shelter,  
  
Alder and Maglor had come to an inn. Their money had been  
  
enough for the simplest of fares, and the owner had promised  
  
to let them sleep in the stables. Alder had been happy to  
  
have an opportunity to look close at the horses, but in the  
  
end it had never happened.  
  
They had been sitting and eating quietly in the corner of  
  
the main room when some local men had come in noisily and  
  
happily, dripping water all around to the barmaid's futile  
  
indignation. The men had seemed to be celebrating some  
  
occasion — Alder had never understood exactly which one. One  
  
of them had started singing on the top of his voice, another  
  
one had shut him up, complaining about the quality of his  
  
singing. And then the third one had noticed Maglor.  
  
"A minstrel!" he had cried out with a drunken grin. "By  
  
gods, we have a minstrel here, friends! Sing for us, why  
  
don't you?"  
  
Alder had been instantly alarmed. How they had guessed  
  
Maglor could sing, he had not known, but he had been  
  
determined to keep his friend from any possible harm. He had  
  
been getting up already, intent on driving away the  
  
drunkards who had surrounded their table, when a soft touch  
  
on his arm had made him look at Maglor.  
  
His friend had looked into Alder's eyes and had shaken his  
  
head imperceptibly. "All right," he had said aloud, "I will  
  
sing."  
  
Strangely, even though Maglor's voice was soft, the company  
  
had instantly fallen silent. The men had returned to their  
  
table and had sat down, turning expectantly towards the  
  
singer.  
  
And Maglor had sung for them all evening. These hadn't been  
  
the tunes Alder had heard from him before — no, it had  
  
turned out that Maglor had known a surprising number of love  
  
ballads and merry drinking songs. Only Alder had been  
  
absolutely sure none of these ballads had ever been sung in  
  
a voice as hauntingly beautiful as that.  
  
The crowd at the inn might have been enchanted by Maglor's  
  
singing, but Alder had been even more interested in the  
  
changes in Maglor himself. At some point the singer had  
  
seemed to let go, to relax completely. He had forgotten his  
  
detachment and had started to play with his public, teasing  
  
them, making them repeat some lines, directing a whole song  
  
at just one person. Alder could have sworn he had seen  
  
another, happier person behind Maglor's usual cloak of  
  
sadness. And now that he knew, he had promised himself to  
  
make Maglor happy again.  
  
Of course, Maglor hadn't thought to ask for money. Perhaps  
  
Alder wouldn't, either — he had been still dazed by all  
  
this. But when the evening had finally ended and Maglor had  
  
gone to look at the room upstairs the owner had insisted on  
  
giving them for the night, the drinking men who had started  
  
all this had approached Alder hesitantly and had put several  
  
coins on the table.  
  
"For your friend," one of them had mumbled. "Tell him  
  
thanks."  
  
And then they had been gone, but that had seemed to give the  
  
others an example, and Alder had retired for the night only  
  
after collecting quite a pile of coins.  
  
He had tried giving them to Maglor, but the man had told him  
  
to keep the money with him. Alder supposed it made sense,  
  
since they were travelling together; and next time when  
  
Maglor had sung in a tavern — as unexpectedly as the first  
  
time — he had already known what to do and had gone round  
  
the public himself. Everybody had seemed as dazed as Alder  
  
himself usually was after Maglor's songs, and no one had  
  
begrudged a few coins.  
  
So now they definitely could afford a room at an inn for a  
  
rainy night — or some presents to buy at the fair. And if  
  
Maglor agreed to sing here... Alder's practical mind knew it  
  
would bring an excellent profit, even though he was sure he  
  
would never dare to offer it to his friend.  
  
Lost in thought, Alder navigated between stalls  
  
automatically, and when he next lifted his eyes, Maglor was  
  
nowhere to be seen. Instantly the boy became worried and  
  
started looking around for his friend, but the crowd seemed  
  
too dense. He moved to the side and climbed onto an  
  
overturned box. Once or twice he managed to glimpse a tall  
  
dark-haired man between the stalls, but each time it turned  
  
out to be some stranger.  
  
Finally he was sure he noticed Maglor further ahead, near  
  
the horse exhibition. Alder jumped down and went there,  
  
frowning thoughtfully. Did Maglor like horses? He seemed to  
  
be friendly towards all the animals, but Alder himself did  
  
not know much about horses. There were several in their  
  
villages, usually owned by richer folk and used to transport  
  
fish to the markets. Now if Maglor liked horses, that would  
  
be a difficult present to give. Their money would not be  
  
enough for a horse...  
  
Alder's father always warned him to think about where he was  
  
going and not about other stuff; but lately Alder had too  
  
many important things to ponder about. So now, worried about  
  
a present for Maglor, he slammed straight into someone going  
  
in the other direction and only then stopped and looked up,  
  
embarrassed.  
  
He flinched inwardly as soon as he saw just who he had  
  
slammed into. A guy taller than him, eyeing Alder with a  
  
nasty smirk on his face. And his two friends flanking him  
  
had identical smirks. There had been guys like this in the  
  
village when Alder was younger. They were later driven out —  
  
but only after almost killing a man in a drunken brawl. And  
  
before that they made a significant portion of Alder and  
  
other kids' life a living hell.  
  
He was older now, and stronger, but there were at least  
  
three of them, and they probably had other friends waiting  
  
nearby. Still, he had first to try and get out of this  
  
peacefully.  
  
"Um... Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to bump into you."  
  
The guy he'd bumped into laughed, and Alder did not like the  
  
sound of this laughter. No luck for him today.  
  
"He says he's sorry," the guy said, turning to his friend on  
  
the left. "Did you ever hear anything like this?"  
  
The friend laughed obligingly.  
  
"Sorry!" the leader repeated — and he was the leader of this  
  
little gang, there was no doubt about that. "This ignorant  
  
bumpkin pushes me around and then thinks it's enough just to  
  
say sorry?"  
  
His friends agreed with him enthusiastically, stepping  
  
closer to surround Alder. Calm, Alder told himself. Keep  
  
calm and think. He stifled an urge to glance nervously  
  
around.  
  
"Yes," he said with certainty he did not feel. "I think it's  
  
enough. So let me go, please."  
  
"Let me go-o, ple-ease," the leader repeated in a  
  
high-pitched mocking tone. "And what if we don't, bumpkin?"  
  
"I think you'd better do it," Alder answered, stepping ahead  
  
with the intention of passing between two of the bullies.  
  
He wasn't allowed to do this. They apparently exhausted the  
  
ability to talk, so the leader stood in his way and pushed  
  
Alder towards his friends.  
  
This first time Alder more or less kept his balance, but  
  
then he was pushed back, falling into the leader. After a  
  
couple of minutes he felt slightly dazed, losing his sense  
  
of direction. He was afraid that the bullies would start a  
  
real fight, but instead they seemed to get another idea.  
  
"This bumpkin isn't fit for civilized society, is he?" the  
  
leader asked, and his flunkies immediately agreed.  
  
"So, we'd better put him where he belongs," the guy went on.  
  
Alder couldn't get what he had in mind, and neither, it  
  
seemed, could the flunkies.  
  
Still, they were appparently good at following instructions  
  
of their leader. Before he had time to react, Alder was  
  
dragged somewhere, held by his arms and legs. And then he  
  
was flying into the air.  
  
It was a short flight, and he landed painfully on the ground  
  
covered by tall grass. Alder sat up, wincing, imagining the  
  
bruises he was going to have, and looked around, surprised  
  
to see such a grassy place in the middle of the town.  
  
His surprise was short-lived. A sudden thudding sound made  
  
him raise his head, and Alder saw several horses running  
  
towards him. Oh, he thought dully. That's what he meant by  
  
saying "where he belongs".  
  
Alder saw this pen earlier, wandering around the fair. Most  
  
horses were tied near the stalls so that prospective buyers  
  
could inspect them. But these horses were special. They were  
  
of some breed — Alder could not remember its name — which  
  
was still raised in one or two places further away from the  
  
beach. The horses of that breed was famous by its fine look  
  
and speed. And they were untamed, meant to be trained only  
  
by the final owner. That was why the pen was locked. From  
  
outside.  
  
Alder almost let out a strangled laugh, but stopped himself.  
  
If these were wild horses, who knew what could set them off.  
  
They definitely could run faster than Alder himself.  
  
He started to get up very slowly and carefully, without  
  
making sudden movements. A couple of horses seemed to watch  
  
him, and the others were running around. He had to get close  
  
to the fence and then over it. Somewhere far away Alder  
  
heard his attackers laughing — enjoying their success,  
  
apparently. He wished irritably that they would stop, for he  
  
was afraid loud sounds could also frighten the horses.  
  
Then they did stop. Finally Alder got on his feet and  
  
started moving cautiously towards the fence. He almost  
  
started congratulating himself on the success of his plan  
  
when something flew over the fence. A stone, judging by the  
  
weight of it. It fell short of the horses, but still  
  
succeeded in its goal of agitating them. Alder had no doubts  
  
that the stone was thrown deliberately.  
  
There was some noise from over the fence, but he did not pay  
  
attention, trying not to run as the frightened horses turned  
  
in his direction.  
  
And then suddenly someone ran past him and towards the  
  
horses, and Alder froze, astonished. Maglor! What was he  
  
doing here?  
  
He wanted to stop Maglor, not wishing to see the man in the  
  
same danger as himself, but this thought fled quickly when  
  
he had seen the assurance in Maglor's movements. In seconds  
  
the dark-haired man was standing between him and the horses  
  
and, as far as Alder could hear, speaking to them in the  
  
melodic language of his songs.  
  
Right before Alder's eyes the horses' run started to slow.  
  
Reaching Maglor, they stopped and stood surrounding him,  
  
listening. That was too much for Alder's curiosity. Limping  
  
slightly, he went to join his friend.  
  
Maglor's head was bent slightly, his hair falling forward  
  
onto his chest in a single dark wave. He fell silent, and  
  
Alder could almost swear that he was listening to the  
  
horses' reply to his speech. He looks better now than when I  
  
had met him, Alder thought suddenly. And indeed, Maglor had  
  
filled out somewhat, looking much healthier and stronger. A  
  
slight smile was playing on his face, one that Alder saw  
  
once or twice directed at himself.  
  
It's stupid to be jealous about horses, Alder told himself  
  
and stifled an impulse to drag his friend away. Instead he  
  
stood watching silently; and soon his patience was rewarded.  
  
"We should go," Maglor said, looking him over intently.  
  
"These horses are better left alone... Are you all right,  
  
Alder?"  
  
Alder assured him that he was indeed all right, but in the  
  
end he still had to leave the pen leaning on Maglor's arm  
  
and feeling slightly foolish about that. The bullies weren't  
  
to be seen anywhere, but they were immediately surrounded by  
  
the crowd.  
  
Someone dragged them to the inn and bought drinks.  
  
Apparently, these bullies were well known here and many  
  
people wished to be rid of them. Only Alder could not find  
  
out what exactly had happened to them. Apparently they tried  
  
to stop Maglor from getting into the pen, and Maglor had  
  
said something to them. Any attempts to get Maglor to  
  
divulge more were met with a polite smile.  
  
One man offered Maglor work with his horses for a handsome  
  
pay, but the man refused politely. Someone else recognized  
  
him as a minstrel, and Maglor agreed to sing at least one  
  
song, but Alder could feel that his friend was uneasy and  
  
tiring fast.  
  
So after one song he declared that he was tired. It was more  
  
or less the truth, as the shock had passed and his bruises  
  
were making themselves felt. Not everybody was content by  
  
that, but as Maglor had immediately declared that they were  
  
leaving, nobody dared to object. And the money offered was,  
  
as Alder had predicted, quite a lot for just one song.  
  
Instead of heading out of town, however, Maglor led him  
  
upstairs. Somehow he had managed to get a room even though  
  
the inn was obviously full with people arriving for the  
  
fair. However, the thought of a soft bed cheered Alder so  
  
much that he did not voice any surprise or protest.  
  
Later, as they laid down to sleep, Alder caught himself  
  
staring at Maglor again, full of new feelings. Somehow he  
  
only had seen a singer in Maglor, and also someone in need  
  
of his care. But today had opened his eyes to more. He never  
  
saw Maglor run before — it seemed as if the man was flying  
  
and his feet did not touch the earth. Also it was strange to  
  
see a measure of fear in the eyes of their drinking  
  
companions when they looked at his gentle friend.  
  
And he did find out what Maglor liked, though he doubted he  
  
would be buying a horse as a present to his friend any time  
  
soon. Still, perhaps some time in the far future... He  
  
smiled dreamily, imagining Maglor riding, and saw him  
  
smiling in answer.  
  
"Thanks," Alder said softly, and Maglor just nodded in  
  
answer.  
  
"Will you teach me?" the boy asked suddenly.  
  
"Teach you what?" the man asked in genuine surprise.  
  
"That language..." Alder said and a sudden yawn escaped him.  
  
"It's so beautiful..."  
  
The boy's eyes closed almost by their own will, and he did  
  
not notice Maglor's look, pain and tenderness mixing in the  
  
man's grey eyes. However, he still had heard his answer.  
  
"I think I will, Alder," Maglor said, and Alder fell asleep  
  
with a smile sill playing on his lips.  
  
-------------------------------------------------------------  
  
The end for now.  
  
------------------------------------------------------------- 


End file.
